Impressing is your job, expressing is mine.

We started off with a tour of the Elephant orphanage at Kegalle. The sight of elephants feeding and later, much to the joy of tourists, bathing in the river was delightful. The baby elephants seemed to be having the time of their lives playfully spraying themselves. As for us, we felt glad seeing them in an environment where they weren’t made to carry logs or overweight people on their backs. Immediately after that, we headed towards the South coast. (The Northern Side is where peril lies, so we avoided it altogether) It sure was a long drive but amazingly memorable. What took away our breath was the roadside view. We were driving along the coast, so there were houses by the road and their back doors opened up to the ocean. How would you feel when you are driving along with waves crashing 20 feet away from your window and the blue ocean stretching to infinity? We could, of course, see some reminiscences of the Tsunami- a few felled trees, a few broken houses here and there to remind you of what an ugly disaster hit this beautiful place. I shook such painful thoughts away from my mind and stuck my eyes on the window to soak in as much of the moment as I could.

(Abaauw: A view of the coast from outside the car window. I repeat, Roadside)

As we neared Ambalagonda, the view kept getting more beautiful and the twenty feet that separated us from the ocean grew increasingly painful. Sensing our temptation, our driver (who in total knew four words in English- van, late, OK and beer) graciously stopped and we ran out. It wasn’t like we hadn’t seen a beach before. It was just that we hadn’t seen such a clean beach. The only thing lying on the shore was a single rose with a red ribbon somebody must have rejected, or left it there to tempt Neptune to come pick it up. We climbed rocks, chased crabs and I was lucky enough to fall down and hurt my toe- giving me something to remember the golden moments by.

Next stop was a turtle conservation center where we played with turtles of all shapes and sizes. One of them even managed to whack me with its flippers. And believe me, they sure aren’t as soft and vulnerable as they look!
It was getting pretty late so we hit a guest house and before we could even keep our bags, we rushed to another beach. The sun was setting, and the feeling was incomparable. It was like us and the sun on two sides of the ocean. As we dropped clothes and ran into the waves on this side, the sun sank into the ocean on the other side. After exhausting all energy we had, we lazed on the shore with the ocean washing our legs and filling whatever clothing we had with sand. And as I looked into the ocean (it was grey now), I realized how small I was, how small and powerless we all were. The tiniest of waves could wash us two meters away. The full fury of the ocean was unimaginable. It suddenly struck me that if nature wanted to, she could finish us all, including the mightiest of men and the tallest of buildings without having to waste a tenth of her energy. And as I walked back, I suddenly felt this growing respect for the seas.
That night, we ate from a table that seemed to have a menu that was as endless a the Ocean itself and dead cheap, considering the complimentary beer that came along with it.
The next day’s trip started with a visit to Maduganga- a huge backwater lagoon near Ambalagonda. The three thousand Sri Lankan Rupees (Twelve hundred in our money) we paid was worth every paise and more for the hour long boat ride on the green water that included two stops- one at an island temple (where giant squirrels came kissing our camera lenses) and another at the famed Cinammon island. As we passed under canopies, we saw huge, powerful and smelly water monitors lazing on the rocks. We also were lucky enough to see two crocodiles ambushing just below the surface with their eyes and nose made visible only by the air bubbles bursting around them. (Abaauw: A water Monitor, Still more abaauw: Maduganga Boat house)
By this time, we were all wondering why we had chosen to live in such polluted, crowded cities where the only wildlife one can see is stray dogs when there are indeed such beautiful places still on earth. In the same frame of mind, we hit Hikkaduwa beach. It was pretty crowded with a lot of tourists, most of them from inland Germany (and two breathtakingly pretty ones probably from Korea) soaking up the sun. We hired a glass-bottom lake and rowed (not exactly, it was a motorboat) towards the horizon.
A hundred meters from the beach, the water was still as clear as crystal. And right underneath our feet, was a sight that beats every Discovery show hands down. Brightly colored coral reefs grew from the bottom and black striped yellow coral fish darted in and out of them. They were so close to us, all we had to do is look outside the boat and we could see hundreds of them swimming fast and random. The boatman gave us food to feed them, we dipped our hands into the water and the little yellow beauties came and licked it clean from our fingers. (Now you are getting jealous, aren’t you?). Just to make the Discovery show complete, our boatman (I wonder how long he had been in the business to predict the animal’s routine) steered our boat right on top of a probably century old Olive Ridley turtle. We stood transfixed, our eyes not leaving the glass bottom. Sir Olive Ridley did not even notice a boat above his head. He just swam about non-chalantly.
Resisting the urge to go scuba diving (which could have proved financially suicidal), we headed towards Galle, the ‘Capital of the South’. We drove along the coast again, this time the view getting only better. At Galle, we went to an ancient fort that the Dutch had built sometime in the 16th century, to protect against a possible Portuguese attack from the sea and locals from the inland. The fort is today a free tourist spot and a lover’s paradise. Dozens of couples sat along the fort walls, covered from the world by their umbrellas and least bothered by tourists around. We had on one side an aerial view of the city and on another of the never-ending Indian Ocean. We wondered what the next stop would be if one started swimming along towards Australia. (We were, of course, joking. It’s humanly impossible)
We took a long ride back to Tholangamuwa, stopping at Colombo for a brief while to shop for our loved ones back home. (The fac t was that we were so engrossed in the beauty that we missed very few people, but we didn’t want them to know that).
I had to leave the next day. I came back and went to work directly from the airport. My friends were lucky enough to spend another three days visiting the most beautiful places in Sri Lanka while I was taking in the pollution. Three long days where my body was in office in front of my comp but my mind was back with the rest of them, in Sri Lanka, driving along clean roads, running along its beautiful beaches and jumping the waves of the godly Indian Ocean.

Jon messages me at 1 in the night (evening for people like us) and asks me 'Dude, you awake?"
(What am I supposed to reply? No dude?..lol). I asked him if if it was another PJ- it usually is- it wasn't.

Jon tells me bout this chick's blog that he really likes n can't stop describing (the blog, dammit- think straight) so I decide I might just look it up coz I ain't sleepy.

I do- it's Pink !!!! I'll never go through this, i tell myself. But I skim through, coz I have to mesage Jon (he's on Gtalk now) and give him some feedback, make it sound like yeah, I read it n stuff. Then I start liking what I read. I like poets who write from their heart, I like intellectuals who write from their head. (I can't stand people who write from their head and try make it sound like it's comin from the heart, but that's off the topic). Well, this girl writes from somewhere in between- personal stuff with an intellectual touch n the other way round.

Then, it catches my eyes!
There's this list of things she's drawn up that probably she likes n stuff, and in it there it is- a few lines about rain.

Now rain's got a pretty negative connotative meaning for me since I've come to Hyderabad (exept for memories of college being called off)- dirty streets, wet jeans (or cargos, or cotton, or whatever you wear, man), leather sandals being ruined, no autos etc etc.

Then I remembered rain back home. And in Sikkim- and I got nostalgic. I messaged a few things rain reminds me of to Jon. He posted them as a comment on her blog, but dammit! that was only a fraction.
So I get up from bed (I'd gone back to sleep), take my chair out and sit on the balcony after I find a notebook whose origin I can't seem to remember and start scribbling stuff bout rain and providing nutrition to sons of bitches mosquitoes.

Here's a what rain reminds me of, what it means to me, or rather what it meant to me before my eyes went redder than Sunny Deol's blood and the mosquitoes drank up more blood than you donated to the SBI Blood Bank scheme, if you did that is.

The smell of wet earth. Nothing, just nothing, in all of creation compares to that smell- not even the drifting chicken in the air when you are passing through a neighborhood on a hungry stomach, or the smell of your girl's shampoo when she's really really close to you- nothing!

The wet blades of grass

Dead leaves on those wet blades of grass

The way they stick on your legs when you walk on the grass.

(And the wet spider webs, with a few droplets of water shining on them)

Watching the rain hit your window pane.

The rain hittin the front portion of your balcony and a little puddle gathering just below the railing.

Running your hand across that railing when it stops raining- that cold touch of the iron, and the way the water drips down your palm/fist.

Simply watching the droplets hanging on to the bottom of the iron rod and dropping down, to be replaced by another droplet.

The cool feelin when you touch the front walls of your house after they become wet.

Wrapping yourself up in a blanket and watching a movie- and drinking a coffee (or a hot chocolate, or bournvita, or horlicks, whatever makes you happy)

The puddles in front of your house

The joy of splashing around in those puddles.

That numb feeling in your wrinkled toes after splashing around.

You sit inside and look out the window, at the ground to see if it's still raining and you don't see the rain, but you see those tiny ripples on the puddles, and you know its still drizzling- one of the best sights of mundane lives.

The platter of rain on a tin roof.

(When I was in the hostel- the top floor. It used to bloody POUR- noisy as hell, but the most soothing lullaby ever. Going to sleep listening to that noise after a long day,,,,)

The feeling when you sit near an open window and tiny drops fall on your skin- ones you can't see but just barely feel. The joy it gives your skin

Those inspiring times when you sit down to write a poem about rain, and you realize that the only words that ryme with rain have a negative evaluative meaning... Pain, Drain, Slain, Chain etc..

Then you get the brilliant idea, and you replace rain with 'showers', and your next line ends in 'flowers'. And then when you need to write rain again, you're fucked.

You give up on the damned poem and go back to watchin the rain.

Sitting on a bench or on a bike after a shower and letting those drops wet your ass- that cool pleasant feeling...

Cycling through a puddle.

The earthworms that come out, you touch them with a twig and they roll into discs.

Sitting with your friends, in the dorm, wrapped up in balnkets and eating- doesn't mater what- and talking bout the lengendary notorious characters in the history of the hostel and the fights they had.

The times you share an umbrella with your friends (eight months of rain in Sikkim) on the way from hostel to school and back.

You spend the first few minutes trying to find out which direction the rain's coming from.

By the time you reach school, the right side of your trouser's wet
Your friend's left side of the trouser's wet too.

Water drips down your pullover/cardigan sleeve.

The way the brown cover on your botebook turns a dark smudgy brown when the rain hits them.

The way you hold your books inside your cardigan to save them from the rain when you are in class six or seven.

The way you hold your books to save your cardigan from getting wet after you reach class nine or ten.

Cheering your football team in the rain.

Playing football in the rain, wearing canvas shoes that you were supposed to keep clean for saturday.

Falling while playing football.

You gather all your shirts during the week and wash them on sundays, hoping they dry because you don't have another one for tomoro.

Skip your bath coz it's too cold (You'll connect with this only if you have lived in a boys' hostel in a hill station)

Drinking tea in the dining hall, while the rain lashes outside, dreading the thought that study hour is twenty minutes away.

The wet footprints all over the staircase, and the corridoor.

Get into your friend's blankets, sit on their clothes, drop food all over threir beds, and they don't mind- coz next time- it's your bed!

The way your socks get wet and your legs freeze inside your shoes, and the relief you get when you open them.

The mud all over your shoes, and the way they don't shine when you polish them the next day.

That cold feeling of your wet shirt sticking to your body.

Pine needles after the rain.

Running in the rain, holding your atlas/ geography notebook over your head, coz only they are large enough to cover it.

And the best game- walking under the trees, and you jump and pull the branches and run and the water falls on your friend. He gets mad and wets you next and you chase each other all the way back to the hostel.

The way water flows down the road.

Damn! I miss Pakyong (Sikkim), I miss the hostel, I miss home (I'm actually more homesick about the hostel than bout home, if it makes any sense to you)
I miss Rajiv, Rohan and everyone else I shared umbrellas with, while walking from the hostel to school in six years of life in Sikkim

Biswas, Sandesh, Karan, Ankit- sitting with them in the dormitory, wrapped in blankets and talking stuff we already talked about a million times.

I miss washing my clothes when it rained, watching cricket when it rained, and million other tiny things that a six inch wide column on blogspot can't do justice to.

Now that things are going good, and I'm actually starting to understand lenses, I've started shooting stuff other than flowers and at times other than before sunrise, (wat was described in the previous post's comment page as 'graduate') though i hardly dare go beyond the first hour and half of the sun.
Mistakes keep happening and I end up deleting more than three times the number of photos i keep. And some can be frustating- because while they look mind boggling on the LCD, they move the photographer to tears when viewed on a larger screen.
And by now, I need to learn to take multiple shots of the same object rather than look at the pic on the display on the first try, smile and move my tripod to something else.
The first photo I'm putting up today is one that blows my mind off on the small screen but then the object is completely out of focus, when actually seen big. But I swear to the spirits of all amateur photographers before me, I'll take that photo again, and this time, I'll bring it out good.
This is the one I'm talking about



And ya, anyway,
here are the better ones...

(This one's in front of our P.G block... Incidentally, I saw it for the first time when I shot it, in all my three years and a half in Loyola)

(Someone told me this one's got no story, but wat the hell.. I like it)

(This is one from that family you saw up there. Honestly, I'm publicising my neighborhood)

(My day's favorite, taken just before I packed my tripod for the day. Taken from one of the most cared for gardens in my neighborhood)

Next post: do I even need to say it?

The wanna be photographer's struck gold!

More than a century and half's passed ever since Joseph Nicephore Niepce (I missed two accents aiguilles in there) invented the photographic camera in 1827. Thousands have mastered the art since and there are a couple of billion cameras in the world today. And you thought, in all these years those wanna-be photographers were extinct.

Unfortunately, they are not . These closet photosophers come to the surface once in a while with a borrowed camera and lots of inspiration. They take pictures of commonday things expecting great photographs; look at their own pictures; frown; shake their heads and delete them. Then after three million and thirty seven tries and half that number of wasted dry cells, they finally get a photo they can look at, smile, come back to their world and go home for dinner. And then they sit on Photoshop and apply pretty weird effects thanx to which the picture finally looks tolerable to the human eye. And unfortunatelyfor you, I am one of them.

I always had a fascination for still photography, which i did not pursue thanx to Nikon and Cannon who price those digi SLRs at above 50,000.

When I finally decided to start some serious shooting, there were two forces behind it. One was Scott Kelby whose book on photography has been very enlightenig and whose poor sense of humor matches mine. (By the way if u ARE Scott Kelby, ignore that last sentence, you have an amazingly rib tickling collection of jokes. If, you are not, then ignore the last sentence, I was lying)

The second's ma friend who drove me to the edge of the cliff above the sea of jealousy (yeah, I am a retired poet) by bragging about her photography lessons every fifteen seconds. (Not bragging actually, t was just narration, at times, enlightening and eventually, motivating).

(And not exactly every fifteen seconds either)


So, I borrowed a Digi SLR from ma fren who is also my Junior (And who has still photography as a part of his course. Why do all good things happen to batches after yours?), a tripod from another close friend and hopefully a lens from another in the recent future (read tomorrow)

And just a day before I started, I took another Digi, which was not SLR and which belonged to another close friend of mine and shot some pics for practice.

And here I am posting those pics. Firstly, because they show how bad my sense of photography is; secondly,they are gros so that might make you want to visit my blog again. And thirdly, when I put up other photos in future, you'll know how much I have improved (and by God's grace, that might even happen)








(That was one hell of a cobra they killed near an undisclosed location, just in case animal rights activists are viewing this. Notice the shallow depth of field, with the background out of focus.
(If you are a genuine photographer, I know u must be saying "This guy can't use lenses for nuts)






(I think this one's a pretty nice view of one of the most useful corners in my house. And just in case you want to know how good I am at manipulating photos with softwares, try this: http://www.orkut.com/AlbumZoom.aspx?uid=12446339638028837856&pid=11)

"The joy of photography lies in making look beautiful what people would say "Gros!"

-Me

And for those who regularly vistit ma blog (That's a sizeable 0.000007% of the world's population, unless you are a forst timer, which would make it 0.0000076), I know i promised to post Chakeela's photo. Sorry to dissapoint you, I promise that will happen soon).

Next post: More photos

For the first time in my life i got an upper hand on an eunuch- on ma joureney back from nepal. And it wasn't easy.

M back in hyderabad, after 14 days n ma room feels like heaven, except for the blanket- it smells soorta queer- must be two weeks of dampness takin its toll.
Weather back home was murderous, weather on the way was worse- The sun in bengal n orisssa was accompanied by hot air, which made it difficult for tiny human cells to survive.
First things first, i had no reservation. I met a friend at the station (implied that we became friends after we met)- guru- n he had no berth either. Nyways, with the whole train at our disposal and no place to sleep, we (at least I) stayed awake all night.

We did try our hand at using the Indian way of getting things done- but the TTE asked for a thousand bucks for one seat, which was way above our financial extravaganza.

Middle of the night we met Akash, who had a berth and no intention of sleeping. And while Guru slept, me and akash stayed awake till morning.

An Uncle on the side got up at 4, asked us the time, n started shaving.
My hopes began to rise- if uncle was going to stay awake, he could sit where we were sitting n v could sleep on his berth. I went to the bathroom. Five minuttes later, no such luck. Akash was fast asleep beside guru, n uncle was back in dreamland with vengeance and a clean shaved face.

I finally did go to sleep - at 7.30 in the morning and was promptly awakened by beggars two hours later. Orissa was amazingly uncomfortable and it wasn't until we were way inside Andhra in the afrternoon that things startyed to cool down.

Andhra Pradesh also brought about another encounter- an eunuch called Chakeela.

I gave the Eunuch (Hijda) 10 bucks with the assurance that (s)he would return 5.
(s)he didn't.

Bored as i was, i decided i neede to do something to get back my money. So i, and akash, followed the eunuch, crying 'paanch rupiya de re'. 7 bogeys and half an hour later (s)he returned the money.

In the process, i sustained over a dozen attacks on my privates, spoke like a million dirty words to balance the conversation, had to throw him/her away wen (s)he tried to grasp me, came to know his/her name, experinced the support and encouragement of fellow passengers, had to take snap shots of chakeela n her friend ramya on the videocam.
Also, i gave a gruelling fifteen minutes lecture on truth telling and working with dignity, standing beside the door, received a compliment saying ' ni kallu baag hunnai ra'*,
turned down three offers from both teh eunuchs to 'go to the bathroom', called hiom/her Sree devi twice before (s)he told me his/her name, and never gave up the flirtatious smile on my face.

Wen i finally got the five rupees (near vishakaptnam), i held it out in my hand like a trophy and showed it to all the people in the seven bogeys whoever were willing to listen.
I also congratulated chakeela who didn't seem really happy and was less willing to shake hands.

The five ruppee coin is tucked away in my purse.
And ya, Chakeela's friend was called Ramya
Next post: Chakeela's photo


*(to which i replied: thanx, topic hage cheyaku, na aidu rupai ei ra),

Tu es belle
Et tu es toute a quoi je peux penser
Si je ferme mes yeux, je te vois
Si je les ouvre, tu est la
Je te sens
Toujours...
Partout...
Autour de moi,
Je sens ton corps dans mes bras
Tes yeux en regardant du ciel
Tes levres sur les miennes
Tu hantes mes reves
Tu hantes mes penses
Je te veux..
Dans ma vie...
Et je veux etre
Dans la tienne...
*********
Quand.....
Comment....
Est-ce que
Tu seras la mienne?

(Note: If you know french, edit me)

He lived aloof and alone, amidstthe woods afar
Where men didn't haunt him nor society his freedom mar
The nearest hut he knew was over a mile away
He slept alone by the night and lazed so by the day

He had a friend though, the only friend he ever had
A greyhound- old, daunted, smelly and equally sad
Two teeth short, it drooled and drooped to gravity
Much like its master, void of any levity

Master and hound, they owned an old wooden hut in the woods
It creaked and squealed to each of nature's changing moods
A dusty patched deerskin lay near the broken fireplace
And a rusty gun hung by the wall with wasted grace.

They spent all summer lazing and winter just grunting
Save when the seasons changed, and they'd go duck-hunting
There best days, though, were spent by the fire, eating burnt meat
Master lying lazily on the chair, hound at his feet.

Thus years passed one after another, time raced ahead
The master's back hunched over, the dog was bout half dead
Their muscles rested, their bones began to rot and defile
Hunting trips became rarer and shorter by the mile

One cold foggy morn, The old man scraped his rusty old gun
Fall ws at it's end and so was his only chance to have fun
Game'd be plenty now and he may get no chance again
Whistling out to hs oldest friend, he whispered- "Captain!"

Captain came limping, saliva droolin from his mouth
His hunter instinct not aroused by the geese flying south
But would follow his master till time did them apart
As both made their last foray into the forest heart

Their joints creaked as they walked, old master and half dead hound
They tramped the marshy land to where the duck abound
They arrived at the lakeside and hid among the reeds
Game was plenty and unaware, the man prepared his leads.

The rusty gun shook hard as it coughed out a bullet
A hasty flutter of wings as game and shot met
"Go, get him, Captain", the man ordered the dog, eyeing him
With forced alacrity, the hound limped and splashed to swim

But his upsurged joy gave his rot decaying bpomes no strength
And when he had splashed his way through half the target length
His hound instinct no longer gave him a helping hand
And he stopped and sank into the marshy sand

The master watched with taerful eyes, this entire death show
He cried, reached his hand out to the air, grieved head hung low
He stood up, walked home and brought back a rope, traumatised
With aged fatigue, he pulled out his only friend demised

His strength fading fast, he dragged the body to his lair
Sat near the fire, hound at his feet, and scratched its dead hair
The deerskin lay dirtily wet and splattered with mud
His throat was sore with cold dry cough and clothes smeared with mud

He stared into the fire as the room dimly it lit
He pulled over the dog and threw it onto the fire
Stench and smoke rose and spread in the room, not lessening his pain
Intoxicated, he lay still on the chair, never to rise again

Well, I created a blog but realised that i wasn't puttin up anything on it... so, for a start, here's some photographs of me n ma frens (whose photographs I have).
If you find yourself here, gimme a comment; if you don't, write me a comment anyway.













Left: Me n Pooja at ma place b4 the party












Right: Bidush: Leavin on a Jet (?) Plane



Left: Me n Rommel on the banks of Hussain Saagar





Left:Rommel, Pooja n Me: Jst b4 the party at ma place

Right: Me n Shruti on her B'day

Left: The team with which i mde my (our) first film: Vaishali, Soni, Deborah, Me n Chintaka

Left: Rahul n me at the Ameerpet House

Right: Me n Rishava on the way from Chintaka's party to Johan's. Both of us three fourths drunk...Wat a weekend that was...






Left: Me n Jon, All caked up on Shruti's birthday





Right: Me n Ken on stage, College day